Lion Heart, a Lesson in Bravery and Cowardice
by runespoor magic
Summary: In which James learns a lesson in cowardice, and Sirius in bravery, and Harry learns that the stranger who shows up in the night is more than just an ordinary visitor, but a compendium of secrets that challenges the very lives that Harry and James lead. Vaguely follows the plot of Inkheart, but with a lot more slash and a whole lot of Gryffindors. AU
1. Chapter 1

Notes: Most of these words belong to Cornelia Funke, so don't give me too much credit. I'm just using the first couple chapters of her masterpiece Inkheart to build off of until I start to take off with my own plot. This story is basically going to take place in the universe of Inkheart, while using the Harry Potter characters, but I don't plan on sticking with the storyline of Inkheart very much past the first couple of chapters. You don't have to read Inkheart to understand this story, although it's a marvelous book and one of my favorites. For those of you who have read Inkheart, I will compile a list of who each character translates into and leave it at the bottom of this chapter as each character comes into play. Again, I don't take credit for this at all.

That being said, I'm also having technical difficulties and I can't read any reviews right now. Please don't let this discourage you from leaving reviews. I love reviews. Reviews are awesome.

Enjoy.

Lion Heart, a Lesson in Bravery and Cowardice

Rain fell that night, a fine, whispering rain. If Harry thought about it, and he thought about it often, he could still hear it, like tiny fingers tapping on the windowpane. The rain, which used to lull him into a quiet sleep, kept him up that night, and had every night since.

The book Harry was reading was under his pillow, pressing its cover against his ear as if to lure him back into its printed pages. His father had teased him mercilessly about it the first time he had found a book under Harry's pillow. "Go on, admit it, the book whispers its story to you at night."

"Sometimes," Harry told him, wrinkling his nose. "But it only works for children." James had laughed aloud at that, like he'd just heard a very clever joke. Harry liked that laugh. It reminded him of a lion's roar and he wished he could learn it. It was the kind of laugh that made you feel brave to hear it.

That night – when so much began and so many things changed forever – Harry had his favorite book under his pillow, and since the rain wouldn't let him sleep, he sat up, clicked on the light, and reached around the table for his glasses. He startled when he knocked against the lamp, and jumped swiftly to the floor when it fell with a clatter. The lightbulb had shattered, and so Harry picked up the pieces of glass with nimble fingers and went to light a candle.

James didn't like fire. "Fire devours books," he always said, but Harry was twelve years old, and he thought he could handle keeping an eye on a few flames. He preferred reading in candlelight over lamplight anyways.

He had just held the lighted match up to the black wick when he heard footsteps outside. He blew out the match in alarm – oh how he remembered it, even many years later – and knelt to look out the window, which was wet with rain. Then he saw him.

The rain cast a kind of pallor on the darkness, and the stranger was little more than a shadow. For a moment, Harry almost thought he was a shadow, dark and vast and more than a little frightening. But then he looked up at Harry. His face gleamed white and his hair clung to his wet forehead. The rain was falling on him, but he ignored it. He stood there, motionless, arms crossed over his chest as if that might at least warm him a little. And he kept staring at the house.

Harry wanted to go and wake James, but it was as though the stranger's stillness had infected him. He kept still, peering over the ledge of the window at the man standing in the night, until he turned his head and looked right up at Harry. Harry sprang up and ran barefoot out into the dark corrider. He skidded to a stop outside James' door.

There was still a light on in James' room. He often stayed up reading late into the night. Harry's messy black hair wasn't the only thing he had inherited from James. He had also gotten his father's love of reading.

The book James was reading that night was bound in pale blue linen. Later, Harry remembered that, too. What unimportant little details stick in the memory.

"Da, there's someone out in the yard!"

James raised his head and gave Harry a steady look. He wasn't the kind of man to lose his head, even if he did weigh in on the side of the overly reckless and brave. "Are you sure?" His voice was low and tired, as it often was when it was late at night.

"Yes," said Harry. "He's staring at our house."

James studied the sight of his pale son, whose green eyes were wide and frightened behind his round spectacles. "Show me," he said, pushing his own glasses up his nose and clamoring to his feet.

Harry didn't wait for James to collect himself. He tugged him along the corrider so impatiently that he stubbed his toe on a pile of books, which was hardly surprising. Stacks of books were piled high all over the house – not arranged on shelves like other people's books – but stacked sideways and backwards, on tables and under chairs and in the kitchen and in the loo. They welcomed Harry down to breakfast with inviting pages and kept boredom at bay when the weather was bad. And sometimes you fell over them.

"He's just standing there," whispered Harry, leading James into his room.

James looked like he wanted to laugh and tease, but one look at Harry's near tearful green eyes caused him to keep his mouth shut. Harry wished he would say something, wished he would laugh his lion's laugh, but his eyes had fallen on the rain spattered window and his expression had grown solemn.

"Didn't you promise burglars would never break into our house because there's nothing here to steal?" whispered Harry.

"He's not a burglar," James said. He ruffled Harry's hair, but the gesture was carefully controlled and his expression was as grave as Harry had ever seen it. "Go back to bed, Harry," he said. "This visitor has come to see me."

James left the room Harry could ask the questions that were already alive on his tongue. He followed his father anxiously, not the slightest bit reassured. As he crept down the corrider he heard his father taking the chain off the front door, and when he reached the hallway he saw him standing in the open door way. The night came in, dark and damp, and the rushing of the rain sounded loud and threatening.

"Sirius!" called James into the darkness. "Is that you?"

Sirius? What kind of name was that? Harry knew it was the name of the Dog Star, but yet it sounded even more familiar than all of that, like a distant memory that wouldn't take shape properly.

At first, all seemed still outside except for the rain falling, murmuring as if the night had found its voice. But then footsteps approached the house, and the man emerged from the darkness, his long coat so wet with rain that it clung to his legs.

He wasn't a shadow, but his hair was dark like the shadows, as black as the night outside, and his eyes were as grey as storm clouds and seemed almost ominous to Harry. There was black stubble around his narrow lipped mouth, and on his cheeks too, but it wasn't long enough to hide three long, pale scars. For a spilt second, Harry thought he saw a small furry head poke over the man's shoulder.

Sirius wiped his wet face with his sleeve and offered James his hand. "How are you, Silvertongue? It's been a long time."

Uncharacteristically hesitant, James took the outstretched hand. "A very long time," he said, looking past his visitor as if he expected to see another figure emerge from the night. "Come in, you'll catch your death. Harry says you've been standing out there for some time."

"Harry?" the man asked, looking up. His eyes swept over him and Harry shifted from foot to foot.

"He's grown," Sirius said a little hoarsely.

"You remember him?"

"Of course."

Harry noticed that James double locked the door.

"How old is he now?" Sirius smiled at him. Harry thought it made him look younger, taking away some of the lines on his scarred face. The smile was a little weak, like his mouth wasn't used to being bent that way. Harry didn't smile back.

"Twelve," James said.

"Twelve?" Sirius croaked. "My word!" He pushed his dripping hair out of his face, looking pained. "Twelve," he repeated. "Of course. He was…lets see, he was three then, wasn't he?"

James nodded. "Come on, I'll find you some dry clothes." Impatiently, as if he were suddenly in a hurry to hide the man from Harry, he led the visitor across the hall. "And Harry," he said over his shoulder. "You go back to sleep." Then, without another word, he closed the workshop door.

Harry stood there rubbing his cold feet together. He didn't like it, the secrecy of it, like he had something to hide, something to hide from Harry, who he told everything to. They didn't keep secrets. Not from each other. Harry couldn't shake the small feeling that made him wonder that if James could hide this stranger from Harry, he could also hide other things.

Bigger things. More important than a one man. What he didn't know at the time, but understood much much later, was that this single man was a compendium of secrets, James' secrets. And that his one, late night appearance in the rain was about to change so much more than Harry could ever have known at the time.

Characters:

James – Mo

Harry – Meggie

Sirius – Dustfinger


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: I want to say a quick thankyou to all of my lovely reviewers for inspiring me to start the next chapter of this story. If you've seen my profile you'll know that I recently lost all of my work; my laptop and my flash drive broke within 2 days of each other, so I was a bit upset, naturally. While I haven't recovered any of my work, my technical difficulties are over now, so I can actually read your reviews. Anyways, enough about that, thanks for the reviews!

Also, who should Farid be? A love interest for Harry, so take your pick, male or female. Just not Ginny, please. Also, who should take the place of Sirius/Dustfinger's wife, and who should Remus be? Let me know in the reviews!

Also, sorry that its so short. this is the first thing I've written in a while.

Enjoy.

Lion Heart

James closed the door behind him and turned to his late night visitor, who stood in the center of his workshop looking a little lost. The expression on his face was melancholy, and twisted sharply with something that could've been longing or hunger or some other animalistic need that James couldn't identify, or didn't want to. James frowned a little and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

Some feeling like foreboding or nervousness was building at the base of his spine, and leaving something like butterflies in the pit of his stomach, or worse, like bats spreading their great black wings. It took him a moment to gather himself, and so he stood staring at the man in front of him.

Sirius wet his lips and brushed his dripping hair out of his eyes. He didn't look anywhere near as anxious as James felt, but then maybe he was better at lying with his face. "James…" he started.

"Wait," James said. He hurried to pull out a bundle of dry clothes from a drawer and he handed them to Sirius. Before he could turn completely away, Sirius's long fingers curled around his wrist. "This isn't really a social call," Sirius said, with a grin that looked like it had been scratched onto his face.

"I gathered," James said. He pulled away carefully and turned back to the door, to Harry. His son seemed to jump out of his skin when he pulled open the door to the workshop and shut it behind him, mostly so he wouldn't hear the sound of Sirius's backpack thudding to the floor or of his wet clothes being peeled off of his body.

"Still there, I see," he said. "Go back to bed, Harry, please."

"Send him away, Da," Harry pleaded with him as James gently propelled him to his room. "Please! Send him away, I don't like him."

James found himself wishing that he disliked the other man even half as much as his son. He leaned in Harry's open doorway. "He'll be gone when you get up in the morning. Marauders honor."

"Marauders honor – no fingers crossed?" Harry stared him straight in the eye, and James was reminded of how like Lily his son was – always knowing whether or not he was lying.

He laughed, because it was either that or to break down in front of his son. "No fingers crossed," he said, holding both hands out to show him.

He closed Harry's door, even though he knew he didn't like that, and made his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. He made sure to take his time gathering a tray of china, mostly to make sure that Sirius would be entirely clothed when he got back.

Sirius was waiting for him, his long black hair toweled dry and dressed in James's trousers, a faded t-shirt, and warm worn jacket. James mostly managed to ignore the way that made him feel, even as a kind of sweet sad longing swept over him in waves.

But when Sirius accepted his tea and tugged James closer by the sleeve, it wasn't for anything romantic. He spoke in a soft, barely audible tone, whispering words that James dreaded to hear.

"Don't underestimate him," he said. His voice was raspy, a smoker's kind of hoarse, and no wonder, with the fire on his tongue and fingertips. "He'd do anything to get ahold of it, and when I say 'anything' I can assure you I mean _anything_."

"I'll never let him have it," James swore, unintentionally raising his voice. A sweeping look from Sirius brought him back to reality.

"He'll still get his hands on it, one way or another." His free hand wrapped around James's upper arm. "I tell you, they're on your trail."

"It wouldn't be the first time. I've managed to shake them off before."

Sirius's grip tightened. "Oh yes? And for how much longer, do you think?"

There was a long pause between them, which mostly consisted of James's eyes staring down at Sirius's lips and Sirius pretending not to notice. "Silvertongue –"

"Don't call me that."

" _James_ …" Sirius said.

There was another moment where they both froze.

"What do you think I should do?" James asked hesitantly and the words tasted like dirt and defeat in his mouth.

"Come with me. I'll take you to them." Sirius released his arm and reached for his cup. The china clinked loudly in the stillness. "You know how much Malfoy thinks of your talents. He'd be glad if you took it to him of your own free will, I'm sure he would. The man he found to replace you is useless." There were words hanging in between them that were left unspoken. _Come with me. I haven't found anyone to replace you._

"I don't know," James whispered tiredly, passing a hand over his face. "I'll have to think about it. When do you think his men will get here?"

" _Soon_ ," Sirius said. James didn't protest at all when Sirius stepped a little closer and grabbed the front of his shirt, tugging him forwards until their noses were almost brushing.

"Where are you staying tonight?" James breathed.

"Here," Sirius said, and it wasn't a question so much as a quiet reassurance.

"I told Harry you'd be gone before he got up."

Sirius leaned closer still, close enough for James to breathe in his scent, which was something like electricity and smoke, a kind of singed smell. "I will be," he said. He tugged on James's collar while simultaneously pushing him against the wall. When their mouths met, it was in a rough, scratchy kiss and James thread his fingers through Sirius's damp hair and ignored the way his mind brought him back to _Lily_.

Decided Characters -

Resa – Lily

Capricorn – Lucius Malfoy

Black Prince – Regulus Black

Fenoglio – Dumbledore

Elinor – Petunia

The Adderhead – Marvolo Gaunt

Violante – Merope Gaunt

Jacopo – Tom Riddle Jr.

Cosimo – Tom Riddle Sr.

Orpheus – Wormtail

Mortola – Umbridge

Basta – Snape


End file.
